


Reciprocity

by Mertiya



Series: Sylvix oneshots (with bonus Claude) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A very sweet one, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Claude is a sweetheart, Emotional Baggage, Ends right after the Battle of Garreg Mach though so no real spoilers for GD, Golden Deer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Golden Deer Sylvain Jose Gautier, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, So is Felix, Sylvain has like negative self-esteem you guys, Sylvain is also a slut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Sylvain figures if someone saves his life, he owes them, so he pays Claude back the easiest way he can think of.  It doesn't imply any emotions, obviously.  Obviously.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: Sylvix oneshots (with bonus Claude) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535714
Comments: 16
Kudos: 196





	Reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pandering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20762762) by [DoveHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveHeart/pseuds/DoveHeart). 

> I started reading DoveHeart's excellent fic Pandering and it made me REALLY consider Claude/Sylvain, and things kind of spiraled from there. (Haven't finished it because I'm waiting till I've actually finished the GD route but anyway.) Anyways, have this thing that happened. I love everyone in this goshdarn game SO MUCH.

Sylvain has always known his brother was a monster. But not like this. Never like this. This writhing mass of flesh that has vomited itself up from inside him. Miklan should have surrendered, Sylvain thinks in bewilderment, staring up—and up—and up—at where his brother’s form ought to be. The final blow that Sylvain struck him with his lance should have brought him to his knees, but instead—

Instead there’s this. Instead there’s this _creature_, and it’s like something inside Sylvain’s head is screaming, and he’s looking up and up, no daylight above and only darkness around. It’s like the well. It’s like he’s trapped in the well again, with the daylight above fading away as the heavy top was dragged back into place.

He screamed for Miklan then; now he just stares, immobile, and it strikes him as the thing that bloomed from his brother’s skin rears up and raises a heavy claw, that this is where he dies. Miklan will finally succeed at his lifelong ambition, and Sylvain can’t even make a move to save himself.

“_Sylvain_!” Arms about him. The world slews past, and a moment later something hits him in the back. He hears cloth rend, feels cold stone at his back. Someone is screaming, rough and hoarse—not a fearful scream, an enraged one. Sylvain blinks blood out of his eyes in time to see Felix, leaping higher than Sylvain thinks should be possible, driving his sword into the beast that has swallowed Miklan. A moment later, black ichor spatters across him, but he lands on his feet, and it’s only then that Sylvain realizes someone else has him pinned to the ground.

Sylvain and Felix only transferred to the Professor’s class a month or so ago. Sylvain still isn’t sure why he did—something in the way they looked at him, some perverse desire to distance himself from his family, or just sheer boredom. Felix followed him, of course. He wouldn’t have gone if he’d thought his friend wouldn’t come.

But the fact remains, he’s a pretty new arrival. And his brain is fuzzy with terror and raw with Miklan’s redoubled hatred, so it takes him a long, long minute to process the dark skin and warm golden eyes, face twisted in something that might almost be concern. Blood is dripping from a head injury onto Sylvain’s face.

“Are you all right?” Claude asks, and Sylvain stares at him and coughs out a painful laugh.

“As all right as I ever am.”

~

Later, when the dust has settled, Sylvain sneaks into Claude’s room in the infirmary to give him a “thanks for saving my ass” blowjob. He figures it’s the least he can do, considering Claude is laid up with some nasty burns he got throwing himself between Sylvain and Miklan. Healing magic helps, but it can only do so much.

Technically, Sylvain hasn’t experienced a blowjob from this angle, but it can’t be that difficult, right? He and Claude don’t say much--“do you want a thank you for saving my ass blowjob?” “Thanks, why not”—but that’s all right. Sylvain’s not here for the conversation. Really, he’s not here for anything except to make sure his new head of house understands that he does appreciate Claude’s laying his life on the line for Sylvain, despite the fact that really, they barely know each other. He thinks Claude gets the message.

And really, that should be the end of that. Sylvain doesn’t get attached to people anymore. There’s Felix, and he snuck in before Sylvain realized how much it hurts to let yourself be vulnerable in front of someone who doesn’t give a fuck about you, but the fact that Felix is insanely loyal despite the fact Sylvain can barely talk to him doesn’t mean he can expect that sort of thing from anyone else. So. Claude saved his life; Sylvain gave him what he hopes was a stellar sexual experience in return. They’re even, or as even as they’re going to be until Sylvain can save Claude’s life. Which—well, the way things are going, maybe that’s not too much to hope for, but Sylvain figures he should at least try to keep his ledger balanced to the extent he can.

As it turns out, he starts getting pretty good at blowjobs. It’s frustrating, really. He’s not a slouch in a fight; he just doesn’t have the ability to keep his eyes on the whole battlefield the way Claude and presumably Teach do. So it’s not that Sylvain is in constant danger; it’s just that whenever his luck is running poorly or he slips or some jerk brings a bow to a swordfight, Claude is there. Before Felix, even, usually. And then Sylvain will sigh and flash him a grateful smile and later, after the battle, he’ll find a corner and pull Claude into it, check in with him, go to town.

After Jeralt dies, he tells Felix about it. Felix gives him a surprised look. “Really?” he says. “Multiple times?”

“Well, it just didn’t seem polite not to,” Sylvain says with a shrug.

Felix raises a sarcastic eyebrow. “I haven’t noticed you doing that for anyone else,” he says.

“Do you want me to?” Sylvain blurts. “I will.”

They stare at each other for a moment. “All right,” Felix says, so he does. Afterwards, he doesn’t leave the way Claude does, and they lie side by side on Sylvain’s bed, hands barely touching, staring upward at the ceiling. Sylvain is grateful for Felix’s warmth.

~

Things change after the Battle of Garreg Mach. Sylvain can’t keep track of who saved whose life in that battle; when he tries to think back to the battle itself, all he has in his head is a smear of blue sky, and a white dragon screaming across it. Of course, maybe that’s because Felix took a serious injury—not that Sylvain can remember how he got it—and he’s preoccupied trying to get him to safety, hands shaking as he applies bandages. He doesn’t know healing magic. He can’t lose Felix.

He begs a place to stay from one of his ex-girlfriends in the village. Apparently her name is Wilhelmina. He definitely didn’t deserve her, because she actually does let them stay, and she helps him tend to Felix’s wounds. Sylvain offers to marry her, because he’d do anything if it meant keeping Felix alive. She scowls at him and asks him why the hell she would want to marry him, and he’s too mortified to stammer out something about crest and bloodlines, because it looks like he was wrong about at least one of his conquests.

After three days, Felix’s temperature is soaring; he’s soaked with sweat and raving, and the injury is puffy red around the edges. Sylvain sits at his bedside without sleeping, repeating every story he can think of from when they were children and when he runs out, just begging him not to die, in a voice rough with overuse.

Sylvain bows his head over Felix, tears streaming down his cheeks, pressing Felix’s hand to his mouth. This is going to be his last view of his friend. They promised they’d die together, and instead he’s going to watch Felix shudder and shrug off his life and leave Sylvain alone. And then the door opens.

Claude looks terrible. He stands in the doorway for a brief moment, just long enough for Sylvain to see the purpling sky behind him, the way the rain is lashing down. There’s lightning, but Sylvain hasn’t noticed until now. Claude is covered in mud, his leather jerkin ripped, and he’s dripping wet, but he smiles when he sees Sylvain and Felix.

“I heard you were in trouble,” he says. “So, if I save Felix, do I get a blowjob from him or you?”

~

Claude doesn’t know healing magic, but he does know potions and herbs. He does something ridiculous with a horrible-smelling paste that he rubs into Felix’s wound while Sylvain holds his raving best friend down to stop him from punching Claude or worse. Wilhelmina (“seriously, please call me Billie”) hurries in and out with hot water and hot drinks.

“There,” Claude says, as he tweaks off the end of a fresh bandage and wipes his clean hand across his muddy forehead.

“Now what?” Sylvain asks.

“Now we wait.”

Sylvain doesn’t know how much later it is—it might be minutes or hours—but at some point in the long, long night, the fever-flush fades from Felix’s cheeks, and he blinks his eyes open, sits up ramrod straight, and demands, “Sylvain. Are you all right?”

Sylvain bursts into tears and throws himself into Felix’s arms, while Claude coughs in embarrassment and brightly turns to Billie to remark loudly on the weather. Felix very clearly has no idea what to do with an armful of sobbing Sylvain; he doesn’t even move to embrace his best friend back. “Ah,” he says. “Ah?”

“Oh, this is painful,” Claude says, abandoning any pretense of the weather as a subject of interest. “Please. At least kiss him.”

“I’m going to go get more hot cider,” Billie says firmly, escaping the room.

Sylvain gasps out another few sobs before gaining control of himself. Felix is still staring down at him. “What’s _wrong_?” he demands, sounding confused and a little angry, clearly having decided the easiest thing is to ignore Claude entirely.

“You asshole,” Sylvain mutters into the junction of his neck and his shoulder. “You were dying. I thought you were dying without me.”

“Clearly, I’m fine.”

“All thanks to me,” Claude puts in cheerfully. “You had one foot in the grave when I found you two.”

There is a pregnant pause. Sylvain wipes his tears away with one hand, looking from Felix to Claude and back again.

“…so. Do I owe you Sylvain’s usual payment, or is this free of charge?” Felix asks, although his cheeks have gone a much healthier shade of pink.

Claude chuckles, but he doesn’t meet either of their eyes. “I did not save your life in expectation of repayment, Fraldarius. You’re still a member of my house.”

Sylvain sags against Felix, and it’s easy to press a kiss into the corner of his jaw. Felix blinks at him, but he doesn’t pull away. “Claude,” Sylvain murmurs. “You literally asked when you came in—”

“It was a joke. I was lightening the tension,” Claude says irritably. “You needed it.”

“I’m willing to extend to my offer to cover Felix as well,” Sylvain says, smiling through the remains of his tears. “Although at some point I would prefer saving _your_ life for a change.”

For just a moment, Claude’s sudden stillness betrays his startlement, and his eyes flicker up to meet Sylvain’s. “You did,” he says softly. “Don’t you remember?”

And suddenly Sylvain does, remembers Claude’s horse shying away from a stray bolt, only to run itself directly into another soldier’s spear. He remembers its piercing shriek of agony, and the way it collapsed sideways, pinning Claude to the ground beneath its thrashing weight. He doesn’t know how he was able to get there in time, but he was, sliding on the bloody, slippery ground to get his lance to Claude’s defense. He caught and deflected a sword strike meant for Claude’s chest, and then—he doesn’t know. That sliver of memory is all he seems to have retained.

“Oh,” Sylvain says. “I suppose I did. I guess for once we’re even.”

A smile curls at the corners of Claude’s lips. “You also got Felix off the battlefield and bound up his wounds, so arguably you saved his life as well.” Sylvain blinks at this. Claude holds out a hand, and the curling smile is broader now. “Felix, don’t you think it’s a shame that Sylvain is always doing things for other people and never being repaid in kind?”

“Hm,” says Felix. Then, before Sylvain can really decide how to respond, “Yes.”

“What?” says Sylvain, not sure if he’s heard clearly.

“I’m not—” Felix swallows, and then he’s lacing his fingers with Sylvain’s. “I think I need some—”

“ ‘Help’ is not a dirty word, you know,” Claude replies cheerfully, and the next moment he’s on the bed as well, one gentle hand skimming along Sylvain’s shoulder. “Come on, I think we both want to make Sylvain feel good. He’s had a rough few days, haven’t you, darling?”

“I—” Sylvain starts, and then Felix bends his head and kisses his hand awkwardly between the knuckles. Sylvain groans and shudders at the touch, and he closes the gap between them to kiss Felix’s mouth, lips still cracked from that terrible fever. “Are you sure you’re well enough,” he mumbles, even as Felix’s hands ghost across his face.

“Sex won’t hurt him,” Claude says, his hands somehow worming their way underneath Sylvain’s shirt and playing around his waist. They’re warm, so warm. Felix seems to be getting the hang of kissing, too, because he’s deepened the kiss, his tongue probing harshly for entrance. Sylvain opens his mouth, moaning, feebly moving his hips against both of them. “We’ll all just sleep for a week,” Claude continues, and then one of his hands lands between Sylvain’s legs, and Sylvain curses and nearly comes on the spot.

“_Please_,” he gasps. “Felix, Claude—” Felix’s hand slides up the outside of his thigh, and he deepens the kiss again, kissing as roughly and as singlemindedly as he ever does anything. Claude nibbles consideringly at his ear, and then his hands smooth down Sylvain’s inner thighs and spread them apart. Felix’s hands move haltingly to undo Sylvain’s trousers, and Claude holds Sylvain still as those sure swordsman’s hands free Sylvain’s erection.

“Goddess,” Sylvain chokes out as his best friend strokes him clumsily. “_Ahhhhh_…”

Claude nips at his neck, and he squirms, whining softly. “Lift your hips a little,” Claude instructs him, and he’s doing it before he realizes, letting Claude pull his trousers down. “Do you trust me?” Claude murmurs in his ear.

“Never,” Sylvain gasps out as Felix bends his head and licks a clumsy stripe along him. He twitches, flexing his hip, focusing on not letting himself tip over that edge—not yet, not yet. At least he’s had practice.

“Good boy.” Claude’s voice turns dark, just a little, and he runs a hand across Sylvain’s naked stomach. With the other, he’s pressing at Sylvain’s entrance, just slightly, just enough to make it obvious what he means when he says, “Can I?”

“Please,” Sylvain whispers, and one of Claude’s slim fingers slips into him. He jerks at the sensation, almost biting down on his lip. Goddess, but it’s good. In front of him, Felix has closed his lips around Sylvain’s cock, and it’s all he can do not to start thrusting desperately.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Claude asks in that same honeyed, dark voice. Sylvain sobs in answer, his head falling back onto Claude’s shoulder, and Claude takes the opportunity to kiss his lips, upside down. Sylvain’s hand drops onto Felix’s head, and he’s suddenly so glad he can feel him there, the warmth of his mouth, the greasy tangle of his hair, the soft vibration of his throat as he moans as well.

Sylvain drops, a moment later, into a place without words, where the only thing in his head is warmth and pleasure and safety, held by Claude behind him and Felix in front of him. Something that’s tightened in his chest for years and years is uncoiling in a rush, and his heart beats for an instant as some perverse instinct tries to hold onto it, but he brushes it aside and just lets himself fall.

He’s blinking his eyes, and there’s moisture on his face. His head is in Claude’s lap, and Felix is stroking his hair out of his eyes while Claude smirks down at him. “Good?” Claude asks.

“Yes,” Sylvain croaks. “I think I needed that.”

“It’s been a long day,” Claude replies. “We should get some rest. I do hope we haven’t traumatized our host.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Sylvain groans, covering his face with his hands. “I have fucked her over six ways from Sunday.”

“I’ll find a way to repay her,” Claude says, patting Sylvain on the head. “Or I’ll help you find it, if you prefer.”

Sylvain sighs. “For now, I’d just better put my pants back on.”

He tries to get up, but his muscles give out; Felix’s strong arm catches him and helps guide him into a sitting position, so he can pull himself back together. Sylvain snakes a hand into Felix’s lap and takes his, then kisses him on the cheek, and—miracle of miracles—Felix smiles, a small, rather shy smile, but a smile all the same.

“So at some point, I think I should get that blowjob from you,” Claude says to Felix, giving him a charming smile.

Felix scowls, then shrugs. “All right,” he says. “But not tonight.”

“No,” Claude agrees. “We’re all tired, and we shouldn’t be more impolite than we can help.” He leans suddenly across Sylvain, cups Felix’s cheek in his hand, and kisses him, deep and sincere. Felix barely moves in response, but he doesn’t pull away. “All right,” Claude says as he pulls back. “Bedtime, then.”

Sylvain gives another long, shuddering sigh as he lets himself be coaxed to lie down, and as he puts his arms around Felix, still a little terrified that something is going to rip his friend away from him. Felix slips an arm around his shoulders as well, and rests his chin on the top of Sylvain’s head. Claude promptly scootches up behind Sylvain and spoons him. “Rest well,” he says gently.

So, caught between love and love, Sylvain does.


End file.
